


Don't Have the Answers but the Question is Clear

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: I am here, I am hereAli's always been there for him.Now it's his turn.
Relationships: Ashlyn Harris/Ali Krieger
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Don't Have the Answers but the Question is Clear

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**   
>  _Ali comes out to Kyle_

“Kyle, Kyle, it’s over. I fucked up, it’s over,” she says the moment he swipes to accept her call.

His sister.

His drunk sister.

It’s the middle of the afternoon on the west coast, and the sun sends beads of sweat rolling down his bare back as he steps off the paved trail to the quiet grassy lawn beside it.

In Germany, though, it’s just about midnight, and it’s not unusual for Ali to call him after a night out with friends, buzz of strong German beer still flittering through her body, softening her voice and turning her usually sultry smile into an easy, lazy grin.

But this isn’t like that.

This isn’t a happy, content Ali calling him to check in, to gossip and hear everything that’s been going on in his life. This isn’t buzzed Ali, calling to tell him about her night, the hot guy at the bar with the strong, muscular forearms, or the latest remix of their favorite Adele song mixed by a one of the many amazing DJs in the club scene over there in Europe.

This is an Ali he remembers hearing only once before in his life, the day their parents sat them down and said the word they all knew was coming–divorce. It hadn’t been a surprise, not after years of cold and bitter conflicts, but what had come as a surprise was the hole that had opened up within him, the ache in his gut that the word hollowed out and made into its home. Because as awful as it could be to listen to the arguing, to stand in-between the cold and icy stares, he knew how to live with it all.

Divorce, what came after, that was the unknown.

And the unknown was scary.

He’d been ten years old, and somehow he knew, somehow he knew that one day, he wouldn’t be there for Ali, for his little sister. But that day he was a man. That day he was the big brother that his sister needed, that she deserved.

Not quite nine yet, after the talk she had knocked softly at his closed door. And in a fit of anger he had considered not answering, considered ignoring her.

Instead, he opened the door, and maybe that was the moment that, all those years later, saved him. Maybe that was the moment he first tapped into the reservoirs of strength buried under his skin.

Kyle remembers the fort they’d made of his bed, just high enough off the ground to crawl under with flashlights, pulling the blanket down to hang low along the carpeted floor. How Ali had scooted up right next to him, all sweaty-haired and sunscreen-scented.

And she’d asked him, in a way that still breaks his heart, if this meant they wouldn’t be a family anymore.

Her voice had been soft and scared, like she was afraid if she said the words too loud her worst fear would come true.

They’d fallen asleep under the bed, and only woken up to their mom frantically calling their names an hour later.

But he’d promised her something before they fell asleep, before she pressed her hot feet into his legs and he’d started to drift off in the warm, stuffy air of their makeshift hiding space. Something he’s never forgotten, though he hasn’t always been able to live up to it.

“I’ll always be your family, Ali,” he’d promised in that way that children do. Like they can’t imagine all the various ways the world will try to break their hearts in the long years to come.

He thinks of her now, the almost-nine Ali who lives in his heart and his memories, the stuffy, dust-laden air under his bed, the hitch in her voice as she asked if they could still be a family.

Her voice, it sounds the same. Scared and lost, broken.

Small.

From a woman who has always been bigger than life, bigger than everything that has tried to conquer her.

His heart goes cold with worry.

“Ali, babes, what happened? Are you okay?” And his mind fills in the blanks of everything that could happen in-between here and there, all the things that could bring his strong, steady sister to drunken tears.

It takes a moment for her to answer him, and when she does, her voice is thick with mucus. She’s always been an ugly crier.

“I ended it, Kyle, I ended it. I told her it was over and I hung up and I made a mistake. I don’t want it to be over, I don’t want to lose her but–”

And she starts to cough, crying and talking and breathing all at once too much for her to manage.

“Ali, Ali,” he says softly, steadily. Like the steady whoosh of a train as it runs along its tracks, or a heartbeat keeping time. He just whispers her name until she’s calm, until he can hear her breathing evenly again.

“Where are you, Al,” Kyle asks, because if she’s out somewhere he’s going to make her give the phone to whomever she’s with, and order them to get his sister home, now.

But she’s at home, she tells him, and Kyle feels his heart slow down just a bit.

She’s safe.

She’s safe.

He can focus on everything else now because she’s at the little one-bedroom apartment she calls home.

“Okay, slowly, Ali, tell me what happened.”

And she tells him.

Everything.

It hits him then, what he missed the first time.

_Her._

_She._

_Ash._

And for a moment, he wonders if he should stop her. If he should tell her to go to bed, to get some sleep, that everything will be better in the morning.

Because Ali is the most private person he knows, and in the morning, when she remembers this, she’ll hate herself.

But he doesn’t.

Because she says something he can’t let go. Something he can’t let her think one night longer.

“I’m so afraid, Kyle,” she whispers, and it comes through so clear he can almost see her. Sitting there in the middle of her bed, blankets wrapped around her like a cape, a shawl.

She’s still that little girl under the bed. Still that little girl who had the courage to ask him the scariest thing she could think of.

_Are we still a family?_

Really, the question hasn’t changed. Not truly. Not the fear underneath it, the want and the need.

_Will I still be loved?_

And there’s a part of him–a part he doesn’t like to acknowledge–that is happy.

Because he’s not the only one who asks this question now. He’s not the only one who is afraid that he’ll never be enough, never quite be what the people in his life want from him.

He recognizes the thought in Ali’s voice, the secret question she’s asking under her words.

_Will you love me if I’m not the person you remember?_

There’s nothing more that he wants in this moment than to hold her close and whisper, “Yes, yes, yes.”

But he can’t. The distance between them is too great.

Instead he listens to the whole story. This girl she loves–“I love her,” she says, heartbroken, “Kyle, I love her.”

Ash.

Blonde, he finds out, and tall.

Hot as hell, an athlete too.

“And, God,” Ali whispers with the kind of groan he’s going to pretend he didn’t hear, “she’s got the most beautiful hands.”

“Ali,” he starts, but she’s not done.

“She’s perfect, Kyle, and I ruined it. She wants me to come home, but there’s nothing to come home to. There’s not a place for me to play soccer at home, not like here … ” Ali trails off, the alcohol beginning to wear off and the hour and the after-effects kicking in.

“Honey, she’s a player, she understands that,” he tries to tell her.

But she doesn’t hear him.

She can’t.

Not torn up inside like she is right now.

“I told her I couldn’t be with her,” Ali whispers. “I told her I couldn’t be like her, brave and not afraid. That I couldn’t be like you.”

She breathes, a heavy sigh.

“All I’ve ever wanted is something simple, Kyle. Something normal. Someone who won’t leave me when it gets hard.”

And he understands. He does. But her words, they cut through him.

Because he is one of the people who left.

One of the people who wasn’t strong enough to stick around.

No one she’s loved has ever stayed, not like they were supposed to. Not their parents. Not him. Not the people she’s fallen for in the past.

“And you don’t think Ash loves you like that? To stay?” he asks. “Do you? Do you love her like that?”

The line is quiet for a minute. So quiet he begins to wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

But then he hears her, that soft voice, that quiet voice.

“Yes.” 

She starts to cry again, and this time he doesn’t try to stop her.

This time he just listens, and whispers the things he hopes will be true.

_It’s okay._

_Everything will work out._

_This isn’t the end._

_You’re going to be okay._

And as the sun beats down upon him in Los Angeles, she falls asleep a world away, under stars both familiar and foreign.

—–

In the morning, he calls her, coffee in one hand and phone in the other.

“Rise and shine my little trooper,” he says softly, and smiles. “Don’t drink the wine if you can’t handle the–”

But she groans and he hears the soft thud of a pillow hitting a wall.

“Give me five minutes,” she says and hangs up.

It takes fifteen, and by the time she Facetimes him he’s already on his second cup of coffee. But she looks somewhat presentable. Hair twisted up into a loose, messy bun. Eyes red but dry. Battle armor on in thick black lines today.

“You’re looking a little green there, Al,” he teases gently, knowing that she needs a little ribbing to feel normal, to break through the fog of last night’s vulnerability.

Even with him, Ali doesn’t let herself be completely free, completely uninhibited. And he knows why–it’s his own fault–but it makes him sad, and he hopes one day things can be like they were again. When they were two innocent kids holding on to each other. Before so many different things went wrong.

“I just threw up everything I’ve eaten in the past month,” she answers, grimacing and taking a swig from a water bottle on the nightstand.

And then she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, sighing loudly.

“That wasn’t just a terrible dream last night, was it?” she asks, refusing to open her eyes, to look at the screen, at him.

“Sorry, babes,” he answers. And the truth of it is that he is sorry. She should have the opportunity to come out in her own time, on her own terms.

Of all people, he knows how important that is.

And if it had been just a drunken mistake, an accidental revelation, he would have pretended. For her sake. He would have buried his questions and let her move along at her own pace.

But not like this. Not with her heart so well and truly broken, not with her angry and confused and aching.

“It’s okay, you know,” he offers when she doesn’t say anything, when she lets the silence build between them. “There’s nothing wrong with–”

She interrupts him.

“I know, don’t you think I know that? I mean, fuck, Kyle … ”

Her voice trails off and this time he lets it hang between them, the unsaid words, the beat. Until she picks it back up again, resigned.

“I know that, you know I have nothing but love and respect for you, Kyle. For who you are–”

He does. She was the first person he came out to and he’ll never forget the way she looked at him, love in every part of her heart, and told him she was proud of him, that she loved him, that nothing would change the way she felt about him.

“–but that was you. You know? It’s not that. It’s just, I never felt like it was okay for me, you know? It was your thing–”

But he laughs there, unable to keep it inside.

“Ali, honey,” he tells her, “being gay isn’t something you call shotgun on. There’s no dibbs, honey.”

When she answers, when she’s done laughing at herself, at him, she sounds lighter. Like something has been lifted from her shoulders, some worry or some fear.

“I know that, Kyle, I do. And I don’t mean to sound like I think there’s something wrong with being gay. I don’t. I just never thought of myself,” she pauses, gathering her words. “I never thought of women that way, not until Ash. Or if I did, I didn’t think anything of it. Which is probably for the best–I think I would have freaked out every time I entered a locker room, terrified someone would think I was watching them.”

And Kyle doesn’t say anything, but he understands. Internalized homophobia is something he’s more than familiar with.

“I mean, I don’t even know if I’m gay, Kyle. All I know is that she makes me feel different than anyone else I’ve ever dated–”

It’s then that Kyle realizes this isn’t just his sister’s first foray into women, it’s the first time in a long time that she’s come to him for help, for advice, and he wonders what else passed him by in his missing years, the years he lost to addiction and depression and all the things that come with them.

“–and she’s the only person I’ve ever been able to see five and ten and fifteen years down the line.”

“Ali,” he asks softly, already knowing what her answer will be, “what do you want?”

And the silence isn’t like before. It’s not resigned. It’s not full of an ache he can feel pulling at his skin.

It’s thoughtful. And honest.

It’s almost loving.

“I want Ash,” she whispers, and she’s no longer the girl hiding with him under the bed. She’s the woman who stands by his hospital bed in the hours and days after his second almost overdose. She’s the woman who drives him to a clinic and checks him in, who calls him every morning and every night to tell him that the world is not complete without him. The woman who has the strength to know when she’s reached her limit, who calls up their parents and tells them that he needs help.

“Well, then,” he tells her, and he knows she can hear his smile across the miles, “here’s what you’re going to do.”

There’s time to talk about this all in more detail, to talk about what it means and what Ali wants and who Ali wants to be.

But right now she’s hurting, and if this Ash is half as amazing as his sister makes her out to be, she’ll be smart enough to give Ali a chance to apologize, smart enough to listen and to forgive.

And he’ll be here to help her figure everything else out along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> "I am Here," P!nk


End file.
